


I Am This Crystal Heart Born Cold

by MajorTrouble



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Curse Breaking, Curses, Eskel gets the feels, Fae & Fairies, Fae politics, Fae!Jaskier, Gen, Non-Binary Jaskier, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Non-binary character, puzzle time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29620902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble
Summary: There were, of course, stories about the castle. That it had been built by some crazed noble to imprison his wife. Or daughter. Or son. There were always variations on a theme. But the unifying thread was that the imprisoned person - whoever they may be, and however they may have been related to the builder - had wronged the noble in some way. Be it through some magical curse, or as an accident of birth, the stories - legends - were vague and plentiful with the details.----------------Or, Eskel gets contracted to take care of some bandits and instead finds himself trapped inside a cursed castle. But he's not alone.
Relationships: Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #016





	I Am This Crystal Heart Born Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you to @locktea for betaing!! Much appreciated.

The castle sat in the middle of the forest. Stone turrets and wooden ramparts had begun to buckle under the slow approach of the reclaiming vines and greenery. Spindly trees sprouted haphazardly from half-collapsed rooftops. The curtain wall had collapsed on one side, allowing entrance into the bailey, which was now choked with ferns and undergrowth. 

The keep itself was relatively intact, for this Eskel was grateful. It was mid-afternoon by the time he made it to the concealed castle, and the light filtered through the tree tops, flickering shadows over the old stone walls. The whole thing looked both out of place and completely natural in the forest setting. Almost as if it had always been here, in this partial state of decay. 

There were, of course, stories about the castle. That it had been built by some crazed noble to imprison his wife. Or daughter. Or son. There were always variations on a theme. But the unifying thread was that the imprisoned person - whoever they may be, and however they may have been related to the builder - had wronged the noble in some way. Be it through some magical curse, or as an accident of birth, the stories - legends - were vague and plentiful with the details. 

Recently the castle had become the base of operations for a group of enterprising bandits. What with the rumours of the haunted - cursed, whatever - castle, people tended to stay away. It made the perfect spot to retreat to after waylaying travelers on the nearby roads and robbing them blind. 

Eskel had been passing through the nearest town when he’d come across the notice. Bandits weren’t his usual fare, but his light coin purse had convinced him otherwise. The mayor and captain of the local militia - neither looking more than eighteen summers - had been wary of him at first, but once he’d convinced them of his intentions, they’d seemed incredibly relieved. Relieved enough, in fact, to offer free board at the tiny inn for him and his horse. They’d drawn him a map of the surrounding area, warned him off of the Haunted Castle (Eskel could hear the capitalization in his mind as they said it) and sent him on his way. 

Which was why he was exactly where they said he shouldn’t go. If the locals were so afraid of it, it was the obvious spot for a group of ne’er do wells to call home. 

He approached the castle as quietly as he could, listening intently for any signs of life. There were a few bird calls out amongst the woods, but nothing else he could detect. Moving forward, he caught the sharp scent of a recent campfire. He edged along the curtain wall until he could see into the bailey proper. A space had been cleared off to one side and a small camp set up. The smell of smoke was coming from the remnants of the cooking fire in the middle, a pot hanging over top. Still there was no other sign of life. The whole scene looked as if someone had just been here, tending to the fire. There were even two sets of sturdy leather boots leaning against the canvas of one of the tents. 

Eskel frowned. He concentrated his hearing harder, but still there were no other signs of life. And he’d seen no one on his way here. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

Something wasn’t right.

He climbed over the collapsed stone of the curtain wall and dropped down onto the castle grounds. As soon as his boots touched the soil, he felt the medallion pressed against his skin hum and warm. He tensed, waiting for an attack, for anything, but only a light breeze rustled through the foliage around him. 

Searching through the camp revealed nothing he didn’t already know. This was definitely where the bandits that had been attacking people on the road had come from. There were several small chests of coins and jewelry as well as a case of spirits and two barrels full of cloth. 

Turning in a slow circle, he caught sight of crushed grass and leaves forming a broken path heading towards the keep. He followed, curiosity and concern warring with each other as he noticed the stumbling gait of whoever had made the path. Almost like they had been injured. Or forced to walk towards the keep. 

The trail ended at the foot of the stone stairs leading up to a surprisingly well-preserved wooden door. It was shut tight, but when Eskel moved towards it, it swung open of its own volition.

“Okay,” he hummed to himself. “That’s not disturbing at all.” 

He reached out to push the door open further and stepped into the dimly lit keep. Adjusting his eyes to take in more light, the first thing he noticed was that unlike other keeps he’d been in, this one wasn’t open but instead began with a closed hall that ran off to his right. He followed the hallway until it made a sharp left, then another, then another, then another, until it felt like he’d been walking down the same hallway for hours. When he turned around and tried to go back the way he came, to find the door leading out into the bailey, he encountered nothing but hallway. 

Suddenly he realized he was trapped inside the keep. He sighed in frustration and shook his head. 

“What would Vesemir think? Trapped inside a cursed castle, you’re as stupid as those bandits.” He decided talking to himself wasn’t helping, so instead he started trailing his fingertips against the walls, trying to determine if there was any differences in the stone work. After what felt like several hours of _that_ and getting nowhere he stopped and looked up at the ceiling. 

Realization dawned on him like a brick. Despite there being no windows or torches in the hallway, Eskel was able to gather enough light to see by. Above him, the stone was dotted with tiny flecks of light. As he watched, they sparkled, winking on and off in an almost mesmerizing way. Carefully, he reached up and touched them, brushing his finger against them in the order that they winked.

The wall to his left cracked open with a sound like ice breaking. 

He smirked, resisting the urge to spread his hands and yell, “ _Ta da!_ ” like he knew Lambert would if the other Witcher were here. Eskel might like puzzles, but Lambert was way more giddy when it came to solving them. Like he was solving the answers to life’s biggest mysteries and not some sorcerer’s stupid trap. 

Speaking of which, he cautiously moved through the opening, every sense on high alert as he entered this new part of the keep. Inside was a vast open room. It was akin to what he’d expected when he’d first opened the wooden door. The stone floor underneath his boots was bare of any rugs or furs, though the walls were lined with tapestries. Light came from a hole high above the room, diffusing through the air and illuminating a pedestal in the center. 

There was a bundle of flowers floating in midair above the pedestal, slowly rotating in the dusty light. As Eskel approached, he could see the delicate burgundy petals caught in the shifting beams sparkle and realized that each blossom was shrouded in ice. He moved closer, hand reaching out of its own volition to touch.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a voice somewhere off to his left. Eskel snatched his hand back so fast he smacked himself in the chest. His medallion grew warmer, the vibrations stronger. 

“Who are you?” Eskel asked, adjusting his eyes again to try to make out whoever had spoken.

“No one,” the voice said. It sounded resigned, like it had answered that question a million times before and answered it exactly the same way. “But I advise you not to touch the flowers, unless you want to end up like everyone else.” 

Suddenly Eskel’s nose was filled with the scent of blood. On the far side of the room, there were several shapes pinned to the wall. As he moved around the pedestal to look closer, he wished he hadn’t. 

He now knew the fate of the bandits. 

There were five of them. Metal spikes had been driven through their bodies at various points, digging deep into the stone and holding them up off the floor. Blood spattered the wall behind them and pooled on the floor beneath them. All held an identical look of horrified surprise. 

“What happened to them?” Eskel breathed, unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight. He could see their swords still sheathed at their sides. Two of them weren’t wearing boots. 

The voice sighed. “The same thing that happens to everyone who doesn’t heed my warning: they died.” There was no emotion in the voice this time. 

“So what should I do instead?” Eskel asked. He turned, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. It was still coming from somewhere off to his left, but no matter how hard he looked into the deep shadows, he couldn’t make out anyone there. He walked towards where he thought it had been coming from, but there was only one of the large tapestries. 

“You could try to figure out the way to get out of here. There have been a few who have escaped.” The voice continued to come from his left. 

“And what of those that don’t?” 

“They die.”

“Oh, of course, how silly of me,” Eskel murmured, attention now absorbed by the tapestry in front of him. It was a detailed scene of a battle, but not one he knew of, and the generals had flags and banners he didn’t know the symbols behind.

The voice snorted. “Well, everyone dies eventually.” It sighed again. “Except me. I’m trapped here forever. Through my own stupidity, but what else is new?” 

Eskel looked away from the tapestry, eyebrow raised as he again tried to pinpoint the direction of the voice. “You’re trapped here? How? Is there a way to release you?”

The voice was silent for so long that Eskel was sure it had left. 

“I - I can’t _tell_ you how to release me. That would be - as my dear father would say - cheating. I _can_ tell you that I got trapped here because I did something unbearably stupid. And I’ve been here a very long time. Everything you need is in this room.” 

Eskel pondered this for a few moments before glancing around. “Can I see you? Or is that part of the curse?”

The voice snorted again. “No. I just choose not to reveal myself. Especially not to _Witchers_.” It hissed the last word and Eskel felt his lips pull into a grimace. It was his turn to sigh. 

“So you know what I am. And you must therefore know that one of the duties of a Witcher is to break curses, no matter who or what they are on, correct?” He very nearly held his breath as he waited for an answer. 

Footsteps sounded from behind him and he turned around slowly, determined not to startle the being whose realm he’d found himself in. The voice did nothing to prepare him for the elfin figure that stood to one side of the pedestal. Nearly as tall as Eskel, with thick chestnut-brown hair and pale skin, they had sharply pointed ears and a square jaw. Storm-coloured blue eyes caught his, quirking one delicate eyebrow in challenge. 

Eskel swallowed thickly before he awkwardly made an abortive half-bow, not missing the delighted smile on the other’s face. “I am Eskel, Witcher of the School of the Wolf.” He decided formality was best if he was to win over this gorgeous creature’s trust. 

_Fuck. Get your head on right,_ he thought to himself. _You’ve got to survive this first._

“Well met, Eskel of the Wolf School. I am Jaskier, once and future page of the Winter Court.” The so-named Fae also bowed, though much more dramatically as Eskel’s eyes widened. 

A Fae. No wonder they’d been reluctant to reveal themselves. Witchers and Fae had never been on the best terms. Not since the founding of the Schools themselves, when the mages had stolen magical ingredients from the Fae in order to create the Witchers. 

“Oh,” Eskel said faintly. “I see.” He glanced back between the tapestry and Jaskier. “So, if all the things I need are in this room, can you explain the story in the tapestries to me.” 

Jaskier brightened, and their smile looked like the breaking of the dawn. Eskel felt like he might swoon. 

_Get it together._

“Of course! These depict the Great Struggle. The conflicts between the Seelie and Unseelie courts.” They shrugged one elegant shoulder as they moved to stand beside Eskel, careful not to brush up against the Witcher. “It’s kind of one of those Eternal Struggle type things, because if one side actually wins, then that means the Continent would be plunged into either an Eternal Winter or an Eternal Summer, neither of which is great for the humans who also happen to live here.”

Eskel grinned back at them. “I suppose that makes sense. So these banners and coat-of-arms? They belong to each side?”

“Mmhmm. Here’s the one for Winter, Summer, Autumn, Spring. Here’s the minor noble lords. And here’s the emblems for those favoured of the kings and queens.” 

It was like listening to a master storyteller at work. As Eskel listened, Jaskier described the battles that were taking place on each tapestry. There were four large scenes of actual bloody battles, with the minor gentry taking the brunt of the punishment on the battlefield. In the end, each battle had been called as a truce, enabling neither Court to lose face to the other. 

“Essentially it meant that nothing changed, but it did shake up some loyalties amongst the nobility and forced alliances that might not otherwise have formed.” Jaskier tapped one long, dexterous finger against his lips in concentration as they looked over the last of the battle scenes, seeming to contemplate something within the woven wool. 

Eskel did his best to look at the tapestry and not the way Jaskier’s brow scrunched adorably as they thought. 

_Come on! Get. It. Together. You’re going to die here if you don’t figure it out._

“Here,” Jaskier pointed, indicating a dark yellow and black patterned shield draped over the rump of what Eskel assumed was a stag. “This is my father’s emblem.” As they touched it again, a snap of static leapt off the tapestry, burning the tip of their finger and making them cry out in pain. “Fuck! I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry!” Jaskier’s eyes were suddenly filled with tears and Eskel turned to look at them in confusion. He longed to wrap the Fae in his arms, to comfort them in some way, but the rivets on his armour, the swords on his back, everything he was was designed to harm the creature. 

“It’s okay,” he said softly, instead. “So, we’ve established that the battles keep the Courts in balance, yeah? Allowing those below the level of kings and queens to move about without much in the way of repercussions?”

Jaskier sniffled, wiping the tears from their eyes and nodding. “Exactly. Now, the other two tapestries are all about the politics of the Courts themselves. This one is an exchange of children - “

“A _what?_ ” Eskel interrupted, suddenly outraged. “They exchange _children_?”

Jaskier waved him off. “Children is a relative term. Since Fae live so long, the children are usually much older than what humans would consider a child. It is an honour to represent your house within another’s court.” The amount of bitterness in Jaskier’s voice at this last statement did not go unnoticed by Eskel.

Yet again he thought of Lambert as he pieced the puzzle together. “You were part of an exchange,” he stated. “But… Something tells me you didn’t want to be.”

“Being exchanged is a great honour,” they repeated. “But that means the court you’re exchanged to can decide your fate.” They looked like they wanted to say more, but winced as they looked back down at their singed fingers.

“That doesn’t sound particularly pleasant,” Eskel murmured.

The Fae nodded before pointing to the last tapestry. “Here, this is a betrothal feast. All the nobility gathers together to see the courts joined. In this case, Winter and Autumn. There’s an exchange of gifts and favours… “

Eskel stopped paying attention as he stared at the tapestry. Because there, in the center of the groups of dancing Fae, picked out in exquisite detail, was Jaskier. They were draped in a turquoise cape, their arms around another Fae with a cloth-of-gold cape. Both wore tiny crowns studded with jewels. Jaskier’s was twisted silver with opals and diamonds whilst his companion’s had emeralds and yellow topaz. However, even in the threads of the tapestry, Eskel could see the frown on Jaskier’s face, the way his hands clutched at his companion.

“You’re not a page. You’re a prince.” Eskel turned to stare at Jaskier as he spoke, watching as the prince’s eyes widened almost comically. 

“Clever,” Jaskier breathed. Behind him, one of the burgundy flowers shattered, the sound like breaking ice. 

Eskel reached out to clutch at Jaskier’s hands, careful to only touch skin to skin. “Your father exchanged you to the Winter court. They decided to betroth you to someone.” He glanced back at the tapestry, willing the pieces to come together. Staring at Jaskier’s companion revealed nothing - the other Fae was smiling, seemed carefree. As he glanced around, his eyes landed on another figure, woven into the tapestry to be standing directly behind Jaskier. This one was all in burgundy, arms crossed over their chest, watching the scene with a bemused expression, but there was a hardness to the eyes that the weavers had kept and made stand out. Eskel looked back at Jaskier.

“Someone you objected to. Someone you didn’t like.”

“Correct.” Another burgundy flower shattered, broken pieces of petals fluttering to the floor. 

“Why?” Eskel asked. 

That simple question brought on an explosion of activity. The room was plunged into darkness and Jaskier was ripped from his hands by a maelstrom of buffeting winds that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Another voice started speaking, once standing off to Eskel’s right.

“My child forsook their duty, their responsibility to my house! This would have meant an enormous boon to us. The favour of the Winter Court.” The voice was a rich, deep baritone and sent shivers through Eskel’s body, like the promise of a cold night.

“I would rather stay here and rot forever than allow my choices to be taken from me. You gave me away. I owe you nothing!” Jaskier’s voice was warm, in comparison, and held a melody of deep longing. Eskel wished he could see them, to offer comfort again.

“They took you as their own child and you betrayed them! I built this prison out of your selfishness.”

“No,” Eskel said softly. “You can’t do that to a child. To a person. Their choices must be their own. Your arrogance has built this prison around your own flesh and blood.”

There was a pause in the maelstrom around him and Eskel opened eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed. There in front of him was the last burgundy flower. The frost on its petals still sparkled in the dim, dusty light that shone down from above. 

This was the last part of the curse, Eskel knew. It would release him and Jaskier from the keep and hopefully they’d survive whatever rebound unbinding that magic caused. As he reached out to touch the flower, he hesitated. Jaskier had stopped him from touching it before. There was no reason to think this time would be any different from the before, but what else was he supposed to do? 

A thought occurred to him and he leaned forward, gathering his breath and then exhaling gently on the delicate petals. The frost slowly melted, dripping off the flower and onto the pedestal and as it did, the flower unfurled further, burgundy colour fading into white. Now Eskel instinctively plucked the flower from the air, holding it close as he was plunged back into darkness and he felt the unmistakable swooping sensation in his stomach of a portal. 

As the darkness receded, he found himself looking at a sturdy wooden door. Tugging it open revealed the bailey of the crumbling castle. Eskel walked out into the morning air, breathing deeply. The bailey looked the same as when he’d first entered it, but when he turned around to look at the keep, all that was left of the structure was the stairs and doorway through which he’d come. 

“Well that’s going to be a great story for cold winter nights,” he said to himself. It was only then that he noticed, still clutched in his hand, as a bundle of white forget-me-nots. He smiled softly as he tucked them into the edge of his armour, careful that they wouldn’t get crushed. 

“I won’t, Jaskier. I don’t think I ever will.” Taking one last look around the clearing, he sighed and headed back through the curtain wall and towards the village.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading!


End file.
